Watermelon War

This is the first foray into an episodic retelling of the history of the world. It is intended to entertain, provoke thoughts, and evoke emotion. Should it do so, please comment.

Also note that lacking feedback, these posts will likely disappear into the nothingness from whence they came.

stranded ship

The passengers have all disembarked.

They came to fulfill their rape fantasies and left with fistfuls of shiny things that would never get returned.

They crashed into us like the waves that brought them here, wrecked our souls as if they were without light.

They invaded our sanctity, created false gods for worship. But the truth is, they are the devils.

From high upon their horses, trampling all that grows beneath them, even though it grew there first.

Tavern

They were all drunk by now.

They harass us, threaten us, shouting over greetings and walking all over the welcome mats placed for them.

They refuse to abide by our norms, our beliefs, our traditions that existed well before they were conceived.

They wrote history to dispute the truth, then disseminated lies and propaganda while we were being erased.

Such noble warriors that rose to protect us, were slaughtered in the mocking face of uneven odds.

Their feeble detractors went to hide and write letters, claiming yet not denying the wrongs of men of action.

Our dissidents remained, joined the righteous in the hopeless battle that you know has not yet been won.

You see the effects, yet choose to ignore our plight. That makes you complicit, fully belonging to their evils.

And our brave warriors rose to fight against impossibility, since all that has happened cannot be overturned.

The acceptance of vengeance begins to taste more like the bitter poisons they left behind inside of us.

Our institutions protect them, set up protectorates with goals of compliance and subservience: their ideas.

So the rules were made up, and now those who are wrong are justified as right. The innocent are criminals.

railcar transport

Reinforcements arrive.

Their enforcers arrive. The scouts will be named saints in comparison to these machinations of oppression.

Bigger guns, the intimidation of a people already mourning the losses of the previously eradicated generation.

Aimed at retention of their gilded thrones, rust covered and seated with rotting souls. This is preservation.

dead gathered

The dead.

And despite the strength of our spirit and our souls, our lifeless bodies are just as weak as theirs.

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Bones

Human remains in St Eusebius' Church, Arnhem

Their bones break under the weight of burden.

They lie still amid the rubble and ash.

Hundreds of years, waiting for the impact.

An end to distress, cheery destruction.

So weak for so long, and finally snapped.

They used to stand up, riot and revolt.

Until heavy hearts crumpled their spirits.

Supposedly protective, what a lie.

My heart beats fast and my stomach is sick.

They drink too much and their sorrows are real.

The early warning signs, symptoms of loss.

Connected in a circle, holding hands.

Asking kumbaya, but never around.

The hunger threatens, and they remain strong.

Doing what they can is how they survive.

Pretty flowers, the pearls of the ocean.

Hidden deep inside to protect their growth.

Thousands of years they walked, hunting pale fish.

Evolutionary advantages.

They didn’t see the beady eyes’ envy.

Festering in hatred that would soon come.

Puckered lips, wanting to kiss, all for coin.

Chains and shackles placed, revoking freedom.

Sold to their former brothers, exploited.

Abuses allowed, the sanctions of death.

Down below

We are sea and sand. We are beneath you.

Trampled underfoot. Insignificant.

Just granules. Little pieces, unseen.

A backdrop for your beach, outside your home.

South coast of Barbados, West Indies.

Not allowed inside. Brush away the taint.

So dirty and unclean. Not good enough.

I am sure you are better. Haughty one.

We will not forget how we’ve been treated.

We have ourselves. You’re not the only one.

The only one who matters. Bite your own tongue.

Or place your foot inside. You will eat words.

We are hardy, tempered for the weather.

You are weak. Prey only on the injured.

You are our target. Prisoner of War.

Pay your respects. Tell us what is deserved.

Does it make you cry? Kingdom crumbling.

Built on our backs, therefore, you owe us more.

Cruelty and punishment for thriving.

Ages before you discovered toilets.

Our memories are vivid, remember you.

Welcome, warmth, kindness, generosity.

And you look down your nose. We’ll cut it off.

Show us you can’t be despicable you.

The gloves are off, pummeling pugilists.

You started the fight. Now it is a war.

not to be

I choose not to be. That is my answer.

I don’t want to exist. This is your world.

Make me invisible. Let me escape.

No haunting or roaming, please. Free my soul.

Desires, insatiable. Inside.

The cruelty, suffering, and pain. Outside.

A world eternal prolongs death and rest.

Slain angels, demons, gods, litter the path.

Reality imposed by the false ones.

The owners, holders, purveyors of slaves.

Scars of a whipped slave (April 2, 1863, Baton...

Envisioned, unreal, many stayed silent.

Release my chains with a noose or the chair.

Misbegotten wants, I shall not falter.

Freedom attained, a merciful offer.

No charges, obligations, hopes, or dreams.

A lazy death for an unlovely life.

Petitions, happenings, all reactive.

Where are the wars of southern aggression?

Have the fighters been slain, given up hope?

Hoarded privilege, empires of self.

Loyal, betrayed, forgotten, surrendered.

More forlorn hope, the last to give it up.

The savior unworshipped, labeled as cruel.

Fraudulent masses, the rule of stupid.

Vision and changes. Everything denied.